Splinters and Saabs
by ShannonSto
Summary: Response to the Improv challenge


Splinters and Saabs

**A/N:  **is in response to Mossley's weekly improv challenge at Unbound.  The first and last lines must be used as given and the fic must be fewer than 1000 words.

**Disclaimer:**  Still don't own a thing.

*^*^*^*^*^*

"So, how much wood would a woodchuck chuck if a woodchuck could chuck wood?" Brass asked.

"If a woodchuck could chuck wood," Greg answered proudly, "a woodchuck would chuck as much wood as a woodchuck could chuck.  If a woodchuck could chuck wood."

Grissom stared quizzically at the duo.  

"My mother used to say that all the time," Sara added.  "That one, and the Fuzzy Wuzzy one."

"Fuzzy Wuzzy?" Grissom ventured to ask.

"Fuzzy Wuzzy was a bear.  Fuzzy Wuzzy had no hair.  Fuzzy Wuzzy wasn't fuzzy, was he?"  Brass volunteered, astounded to know something that Grissom didn't.

Sara flashed Grissom a sympathetic smile. "Aren't you sorry you asked?"

"Yes," he responded quickly, with just a hint of humor in his eyes betraying his tone. "Is there a case here somewhere, Jim?"

"Feast your eyes…" Brass waved his arm dramatically at the catastrophe behind him.  Somehow two lumber trucks had collided on the interstate, spilling wood over four lanes and several cars, and tying up the morning rush hour traffic.  Two cars were nearly completely buried, and another had a fifteen feet long piece of lumber lodged through its windshield and protruding out the back window.  

"You called us for a traffic accident?" Grissom's good humor was beginning to wear thin.  He should be going home and going to bed now, not sorting through a giant woodpile.  "Aren't you a homicide cop?"

"Funny you should mention that," Jim continued, unflustered.  If there was one thing he'd learned in all these years, it was how to deal with Gil Grissom. "Fire Rescue goes to pull the driver out of that car, a victim mind you, not one of the principal vehicles in the accident, and I'll be damned if there isn't a bullet hole in his head."

"So," Grissom sought clarification, "the trucks collide, the wood is released…everywhere, one plank goes through the windshield of that car, but the driver of the shish-ka-Saab has a gunshot wound?"

"That's about it," Brass nodded.  "So where's Ecklie's crew?"

"They get a double in Summerlin.  We get…splinters, most likely."

"I have to finish interviewing the truck drivers," Brass said. "You coming?"

"I'll be there in a minute."

"Where do we start, boss?" Greg asked enthusiastically.

"We'll let the cadets do most of the clean-up, but keep them away from the Saab.  I don't want them near our evidence. Sara, start processing the tread marks.  Look for any sign that this driver was struggling _before_ his car got skewered.  Greg, stick close to Sara."

Greg must have thought he'd hit the Megabucks jackpot. "Ah, the stuff that dreams are made of," he sang sporting a goofy grin.  

Sara rolled her eyes, "Come on, Romeo." 

Sara and switched into educator mode, instructing Greg on the finer points of skid mark analysis.  She enjoyed that he was a keen student who was eager to learn as much as he could.  He was also very intelligent, despite his antics.  They were careful to photograph every detail of the accident from every angle.  Placing the camera back into the Denali, they set to work on processing the Saab.

The rescue workers had already removed several pieces of debris while attempting to access the victim, but there was still plenty remaining for Sara and Greg.  They picked painstakingly through the wooden boards and planks.

"So, Sara," Greg grinned. "When are you gonna go out with me?"

"You don't give up, do you?" Sara returned his grin, carefully moving aside a board.

"Naw, not until you're married."

"In that case, you'll never give up," she responded dryly.

"Don't say that," he tugged at a particularly heavy plank. "It'll happen."

"Uh huh." Sara didn't sound convinced.

"It will.  As soon as he takes his head out of his…aaahh, could you give me a hand with this?"

"Who?"

"You know who," Greg winked playfully and gave the plank another tug.  "The Bearded Bug Guy."

"It's not what you think," Sara defended quickly. "There's nothing going on there."

"Because he doesn't know what to do with someone as great as you.  And until he comes to his senses, you're fair game.  I still have a chance to sell you on the Sanders charm.  Seriously, though, this is really heavy.  I could hurt myself, and I wouldn't want to sell you damaged goods."

"Oh, sorry," Sara moved to help him with the log.  She grabbed the opposite end, and on the count of three, they lifted together.

"The guys are never gonna believe me when I tell them you helped me with my wood," Greg laughed.

"I can't believe you just said that!" Sara was both amused and offended at the same time, and in her surprise, she dropped her end of the plank.  The sudden action caused Greg to fall backwards and the wood tipped up, hitting the newly arrived Grissom squarely in the forehead.

"Hey!" He yelled, slapping his hand to his head.  "Be careful!"

"Sorry! Sorry!" Greg and Sara exclaimed in unison.

Sara moved Grissom hand away so she could examine the wound.  "Are you okay?  I'm so sorry."

"I guess I'll live," he muttered dryly.

"That's going to be a hell of a knot, though.  We should get ice on it."

She sat Grissom in the back of the Denali and returned in a few moments with a cold pack. 

"Where'd you get the ice pack?" Grissom asked.

"Magic," she smiled.  When Grissom failed to look amused, she continued, "There are paramedics all over the place, Grissom."   He couldn't help but notice the genuine concern in her eyes as she dabbed at his forehead with an antiseptic gauze.

He winced as he put the ice pack against his head.

The end.


End file.
